Season's Greetings, Vivaldi.

...To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more...

- Keats, Ode to Autumn*

*For what weight does my Bachelor of Arts carry,

if I cannot pretentiously quote poetry and avoid writing introductory paragraphs?

Autumn is, without a doubt, my favorite season. In Pennsylvania, we are blessed with glorious colors in the fall, and there's nothing more picturesque than hiking on trails through wooded parks. To top it off, I can't help but love the expression "blustery day" and work it into conversation. When I think of autumn, I fixate on new beginnings, and for some reason, I feel the inexplicable desire to watch "You've Got Mail" for the zillionth time. There's something about the opening scene that lends itself charmingly to my five year plan: Meg Ryan, jauntily walking down a city street, bundled against the wind and sipping a Caramel Macchiato as she makes her way to the "The Shop Around the Corner." People are bustling about, the trees are a burnished, coppery-orange, and you can see little pumpkin stands dotting the sidewalks. (The fact that the Cranberries' song "Dreams" is playing on the background is telling, of course.) Sigh. I love it.

Autumn means leaves, scarves, college football, farmer's markets, cardigans, crisp air, blustery days (see what I did there?), new jeans, soup - preferably with a sourdough bread bowl - cozy socks, and Chai Tea Lattes at Starbucks. What could be more glorious? (Alas, this year I no longer have a student leadership position that offers Dining Dollars in exchange for slave labor, so I will have to cut back on the chai.) Autumn smells like cinnamon and pumpkin spice, feels like a fuzzy down blanket, sounds like crunchy leaves, and... Well, you get the picture. There's a lot of sensory activity.

Autumn also quietly ushers in three little words: Back. To. School. It should come as no surprise to readers that I have and continue to "dig school." I have always loved learning, and in recent weeks, my body has responded to any mentions of "campuses" - collegiate, secondary, even Presbyterian preschools - with fleeting, yet dismaying, paralysis. For the first time in nineteen years, I am not a student in any capacity, and oh, how strange it is. I suppose one could argue that she is always a "student of the world," but let's be real... The back-to-school displays at Target are enough to disturb my emotional equilibrium. I can't even walk by a Staples. I am alarmingly nostalgic for five-subject notebooks, and even though my bank account is thankful this season (textbooks have not caused undue pressure and stress), I can't help but wish I were flipping through a new Norton Anthology.

I take solace in one idea, though: I can't be the only one who shares these sentiments. I mean, who doesn't feel the pressure to buy a package of new pens, especially if they offer a mix of blue, black, and red ballpoint? (There's something so poetic about a fresh pen.) Who doesn't love to rip off the packaging of a new textbook? (Thanks for that two-day shipping, Amazon.) And who doesn't harbor a strange desire to inculcate the Youth of America with "School House Rock" videos? (Okay, so I may be flying solo on that one.) The truth is, muscle memory seems to play a large part in the "excitement" that surrounds the fall season. For me, fall has always meant new teachers and freshly-printed syllabi... Ahhh... I can still feel the heat of the copier paper! What's more, fall offers the  prospect of new literature to read (and, dare I say it), papers to write. And then there's the really important stuff: I can't overlook the early planning stages of my Halloween costume and the unparalleled satisfaction I get when I discover that candy corn is on sale at my local grocery outlet.

Autumn is all about taking risks, too. In days of yesteryear, this meant selecting a seat in a classroom and viciously re-claiming it as your own on Day Two. It meant breaking in a new pair of basketball sneakers, or making a conscious decision to let other people see you in your pajamas (What up, college?). Now, the risks I take include answering phone calls with unknown numbers - It could be a potential employer. I should probably answer, "This is she." - testing out a matte red lip color à la Gwen Stefani, and playing rap in the car with my parents. (Dear Mom and Dad: Sorry about those drug under(okay, over)tones in Nicki Minaj's "Blazin." It's a sick jam, I promise.)

Autumn is a time of hard work and determination: Students compete for academic recognition and financial aid, squirrels compete for nuts, and the Big Ten competes to retain its name ("Ten" for how much longer, you think?) Autumn is also a time of promise, e.g. I promise I'll start studying for finals sooner, I promise I'll get more sleep this semester, I promise I won't be on a first-name basis with the bouncer at the Dubliner. Hope springs anew in the fall! Incidentally, autumn is the springboard for my favorite line in "My Favorite Things" - Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Yes, autumn, I greet you warmly.

So whether you are a seasoned veteran of the workforce, you have assumed the literal and figurative weight of graduate school texts (Enjoy the fruits of that harvest!) or you use blogging to assuage the envious feelings that bubble forth when you see backpacking-toting undergrads (That's me!), I wish you a delightful autumn season, reader.


By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather
And autumn's best of cheer.
                 - My girl, Helen Hunt Jackson

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A/N: The happiest of birthdays to two people with whom I am obsessed: The Blessed Virgin Mother and Kara Moey Fitzgerald.

I've been lagging in recent weeks with this blog (it IS the new journal; I always begin with such high hopes), but rest assured, more will follow this week. Be on the lookout for Canada and bromances... I have a lot to say, yo.